


Alleyways

by pridecookies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies
Summary: Sometimes a mage just needs to kiss his boyfriend.
Relationships: Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Alleyways

It was quiet in the streets of Hightown, with nary a sound to disturb the mounting tension between the mage and the warrior. Poised in an alleyway with a full view of the courtyard, Malcolm Hawke sat with his back pressed against the wall, his staff carelessly poised on three fingers, hanging in the air. With ease, he balanced it and moved his arm back and forth. 

“Would you stop that, please,” Fenris gruffed. The elf stood opposite, on the other side of the alleyway, looking down at him with a disinterested expression. 

“You aren’t impressed by my dexterity,” Malcolm smirked. 

“Was I impressed the first dozen times?”

“I can’t really tell, Fenris,” he said in mock surprise, “You  _ always _ look so open and enthused, like a beam of sunshine on a cool spring morning. How am I to tell?”

Fenris grunted and crossed his arms, leaning harder into the wall and keeping an eye on the courtyard that stretched out before him. He glanced over at Malcolm who was staring at him with a familiar look, one dark brow hiked higher than the Maker’s expectations and a grin that would make even a whore blush. He stopped balancing the staff on his fingers and set it next to him, crossing his legs and his arms, expectantly. Fenris made a gruff, disgusted noise. 

“Fenris,” Malcolm cooed.

“What?”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“It’s  _ unspeakably _ boring out here. I want to play.”

“Those blood mages could arrive at any time, Hawke. We need to be vigilant.”

“I prefer to be vigorous.”

“Was that supposed to be some innuendo?”

“Frankly, I have no idea but I think we can safely assume that.”

Fenris allowed a small smile, faint but present regardless, and returned his eyes to the courtyard. Malcolm began to whistle and Fenris shot him a look. He rolled his eyes and stopped, settling deeper into the wall with an exaggerated pouting expression. 

“Blood mages,” he sighed, “It always has to be blood mages. Damned things.”

“Hawke,” Fenris warned, “You’re a blood mage.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “How could you say such a thing.”

Fenris glanced at him disapprovingly, “Don’t. This is not a conversation I wish to have at the moment, much less joke about. You know how I feel.”

“I’m not a blood mage,” Malcolm shrugged.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not even a mage.”

“Hawke, I am not in the mood.”

“What’s a mage?”

“You’re trying my patience now.”

“What  _ is _ being in general? Existence itself is such an intangible concept.” Fenris sighed warily. “If I was this ‘mage’ thing you insist I am, naturally Ser Cullen would have locked me up by now.” Fenris flexed a fist and threw Malcolm a warning glance and he held his hands up in surrender, his expression softening. “I know, Fenris,” he chuckled, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why you bothered to bring me along,” the elf gruffed, “Wouldn’t  _ anyone else _ be more appropriate for this sort of thing?”

Malcolm clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “Anders is filled with a kind of righteous, untamed fury, rather exciting at parties but not good for this sort of liaison, Isa would rather spend her evenings drowning in both ale and unwanted attention at the Hanged man, Sebastian is boring now that he pines only for Andraste, Merrill is more likely to see the blood spilled as free real estate, Varric is useless in a fight though he often insists otherwise, and Aveline likes to pretend I’m dead for fun. You, on the other hand,” he cocked his head to the left, “You have this lovely, brooding, sad look. It’s just perfect for staking out in the middle of a street bordering symbols of oppression and rich people. How could I not bring you?”

“Mmhmm,” Fenris gruffed, shifting in his stance. Malcolm had that same look again, but this time it was overtly flirtatious. 

“I mostly brought you to act as scenery. Hightown is rather dull but you provide an excellent view,” Malcolm grinned, standing up and walking over to where Fenris was standing. The elf threw him a warning look and it seemed to only encourage him. 

“Hawke,” he narrowed his eyes, “Not now.”

“Come on then,” he said, placing a hand on the space of wall over the elf’s head, leaning into him. “Punish the bad,  _ bad _ mage.” Without being able to repress it, the elf smiled ever so briefly but even that subtle movement prompted Malcolm further. “Let’s play the mage and the Templar, it could be fun. You could be the Templar because you are a terrible actor and that is probably the best role for you naturally.”

With a kind of resigned sigh, Fenris shifted in his stance to lean against the wall and face him, resting his hands behind his back and staring at Malcolm with the full force of his unamused gaze, “I thought you weren’t a mage.”

Malcolm smirked, “Exactly, it’s from my personal experience so it would challenge my theatrical skill. So, go on then, Templar. Spank the bad, bad mage.”

With a look toward the courtyard, Fenris scanned the area for any disturbance. Nothing. Quiet as a Chantry confessional. He looked back at Hawke and allowed himself a smile. 

“You really shouldn’t be out of your Circle,” he teased.

“Oh no,” Malcolm purred, pitching his voice higher, “Please, Ser Broody Bits! Don’t take me back to the Circle, me mum and me pa! I will never see them again!”

“I will have to take you back, mage.”

“Must you clap me in irons? Hold me captive? Strip me of my basic rights and enslave me to your theocratic institutions?” Fenris frowned. Malcolm snorted. “Spank me, Ser Broody Bits! Spank the bad mage!”

“If you are very good, I promise not to spank you too hard.”

“Thank you, Ser Broody Bits! I promise that I will bow to your oppositional force despite it being used without cause and impunity!”

Fenris rolled his eyes, “You spend too much time with Anders.”

Malcolm chuckled and lowered his hand to rest on Fenris’ face and for a moment, there was no amusement, no overt gestures of silly flirtation, just genuine affection. 

“Probably,” he murmured, pressing into the wall, “I’d rather spend it with you. For all your broody bits.”

“I thought you rather liked my broody bits.”

“I do,” Malcolm said, resting his lips barely above the elf’s with a fantastic discipline, “I love all your bits,” he murmured and wrapped an arm around Fenris’ waist and pulled him closer, “Some more than others.”

Without allowing for protest, the mage pressed his lips to his with remarkably focused aggression for such a cavalier man. Fenris responded, his own ferver impressive but not entirely unexpected. He wrapped his arms around Malcolm's neck and the mage responded with a muffled, “Ouch.” The elf did have rather trepidatious gauntlets on. Fenris pulled his arms back and Malcolm stopped him, grabbing his wrists and breaking the kiss. “I said ‘ouch’ but I didn’t say you should  _ stop _ .”

“I thought I had hurt you.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Fenris closed his eyes, “ _ Festis bei umo canavarum _ .”

“I rather hope not,” Malcolm said, kissing his neck, “I’m not a necromancer and there is a shortage of attractive, magically infused Tevinter elves in Kirkwall.”

The elf wrapped his arms around his neck again, this time initiating the kiss. Malcolm wrapped both his arms around Fenris and pulled him closer, his hands carelessly mussing his white hair, weaving his fingers through the familiar strands. With growing intensity, his breath catching in this throat, Malcolm pushed Fenris against the wall of the alleyway. With his weight against him, he traced a greedy hand down his arms and his torso and rested on his thigh, forcibly hiking it over his own. With a frustrated groan, Malcolm nipped at Fenris’ neck and traced his jaw with his mouth. 

“This isn’t very accessible, this armor,” he gruffed.

“How unfortunate for you.”

“It really is,” Malcolm said breathlessly, hungrily,  _ somewhat _ angrily. 

Then, there was a stir, a new sound. Voices across the courtyard, coming closer. Malcolm groaned, pressing his hips against the elf and breathing raggedly into his shoulder with an exasperated, sexual fury. Fenris relaxed and chuckled, laying a hand on Malcolm's face.  _ Time to go. _ The mage forced himself away from him, throwing up his hands in mock outrage and angrily picking up his staff, preparing himself for the inevitable battle. 

“ _ Fucking blood mages _ .”


End file.
